


Grown Like a Tumor

by whatsanapocalae



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, hyper sensitivity, touch repulsed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsanapocalae/pseuds/whatsanapocalae
Summary: Vergil is invited to dinner at Kyrie and Nero's. He wasn't expecting there to be children there. He also wasn't expecting to have such an issue with his hearing, with his trauma, with someone who understands.
Relationships: Kyrie & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 135





	Grown Like a Tumor

Vergil liked Kyrie. Everyone liked Kyrie. She was kind in a way that felt real, had a warmth that couldn't be chilled, was quiet in the loud in a way that filled a room. He'd met her a few times, always escorted, and he had never been good with people, especially not human people, but she made him want to be better. Nero felt different when he was with her, like a little bit of sunlight had settled in his chest. Vergil knew, the first time he caught a whiff of his son's love for her, felt the heat of her rays wash upon the shores of his own broken soul, that he would not allow any of the darkness that followed him to lose its way and come to her.

He tried, because of her and Nero, to be a bit more human. There were days in which the veins under his skin felt thick and foreign, moments in mirrors when he could swear his eyes shown red, but he swallowed it down and focused instead on the things that humans occupied their own short lives with; work. He was a demon hunter for hire at Devil May Cry, and was primarily hired on for emergencies or anything that needed a first responder. He wasn't great at talking to victims of demonic attacks, but he was working on it, and he even had a few decent reviews on the website that Nico had demanded they get for the shop.

Sometimes Dante came with him and, while he could always take care of the danger on his own, it felt good to work at his side again. There were still shadows within him, a worry that Dante would decide that this would be the right time to do away with him, and sometimes, Vergil could feel the sword slide through him instead of a lowly demon. He had caught Dante stare at his palm sometimes, felt the thundering heart in the middle of the night as Dante's chest ached from a blade no longer shoved through it. He knew he wasn't alone in this but there was no way he would ever admit to it. It was a weakness and, while he had been indulging a great many of his weaknesses as of late, he wasn't ready to embrace that one.

When he was invited to their house he didn't know what to think. Dante had been invited many times, but never him. It wasn't that he was being avoided, or that was what he had to tell himself, but that Dante would be invited when Vergil was too busy. He would come back from a hunt and Dante would be bloated and sated from something other than pizza and that feeling of sunshine had been spilled onto the floor of the shop.

It just made the shadows feel colder.

When he was with them, he felt like he belonged, a bit odd, a bit out of sorts, but like they were trying to include him, like they were opening their hearts for him to step through and make a home. He was terrified though, of crossing that threshold. He wasn't particularly wanted and he knew that he was mostly being included because Dante was so adamant about getting Vergil involved with his family. The invitation felt good though, felt amazing, and he accepted without a thought.

It wasn't big, it was just dinner at Nero and Kyrie's house, but it was the first time that he'd been invited anywhere.

On the day he was all nerves and Dante was staying out of his way, feeling that bristling static electricity that spread from him. He shouldn't have been nervous, this was his family, he knew them, but he still felt a shiver up his spine that he wasn't used to. He didn't get nervous easily. He didn't want to ruin this. If he messed this up, he'd never be invited again and it would prove what he feared so greatly; that he wasn't wanted.

Dante had told him that he was always wanted, that their parents had loved him, that he'd loved him and always wanted him back, had spent so long wishing that Vergil was at his side. He could only remember a few people wanting him, a man starving for power, taking his and falling for it, a demon, who had taken him and turned him and bolstered his power while taking away everything else that he was. He could only remember being wanted for his power and his memories of those who supposedly loved him were terribly twisted.

He dressed well. He always did but he may have been overdressed for dinner with his son and not quite daughter-in-law. A charcoal smoking jacket with gray slacks and a navy turtleneck that had black laced drooping around the shoulders. His leather fingerless gloves were replaced with full length navy ones and his boots were replaced with dress shoes. Yamato was left on the bed. His heart was left in his throat.

When he came down the steps Dante whistled at him. He was wearing jeans and a deep burgundy sweater. His hair was brushed and pulled back into a small ponytail, out of his face, but they were still extremely different levels of dressed.

"Too much?" Vergil asked and he hated how quiet and unsure he sounded.

Dante just shook his head and walked over, arm raised to rest it over Vergils shoulders. That was fine. The weight was good, warm. He inhaled sharply and he didn't flinch when Dante was against him.

"Everything about you is too much," Dante joked.

He led Vergil out of the shop and onto the street, where the van was already waiting for them. It was loud out there; children playing down the street, the music from inside the van, a cat in an alley, an argument in a restaurant down the street, so many conversations in the apartments across the street. He could hear it all, which only happened on bad days, when he felt an itch climbing up his arms like his skin was cracked and dry and flaking off.

The arm around his shoulders moved so Dante could grab him by the forearm, not tightly, just a reminder that he was there. "You okay?"

Vergil shook away the intrusive sounds. These were the sounds of a city, of people. There was no danger in them. They weren't gong to get hurt. Nothing was coming to hurt him and his family. He knew that. He was safe here.

"Yes." He made it true. He planted his feet and put himself into his stance, knowing that he was there, he was on earth, that he didn't need to look so deeply into the darkness.

"Come on, Cinderella!" Nico pushed herself out the passenger side window, leaning over the seat. "The balls already started and if you take too long I'm gonna turn into a pumpkin or whatever!"

"Who are you calling Cinderella?" Dante curled his lip at her but he did approach the van and hold the door open for his brother.

"Vergil, duh! You're ugly stepsister material, any day!" Nico pulled herself back into the driver's seat, placing her cigarette back between her lips. She barely waited for them to get settled before she had the van in motion again.

"Y'know, we don't have to do this," Dante said, quiet enough that only Vergil could hear him over the radio. "If you're having a bad time, no one's gonna call you out for being a little baby."

"I'm not a baby," Vergil growled, "This is nothing. I don't know why you're so concerned."

"Okay, okay, whatever, but if you want to escape just let me know."

It was gentle, the way that Dante spoke. It was understanding. Vergil could feel when Dante had a nightmare, though he didn't interrupt them like he did when they were kids. Dante could probably tell exactly what he was feeling too.

Soon enough Dante was ignoring him, his conversation being the constant back and forth of kind little insults with Nico. He was still sitting unbearably close, but he wasn't touching Vergil now. He leaned back and, even though the van stank of cigarettes and gun oil, breathed a long deep breath. He was fine. This was fine. Nothing bad was going to happen.

-

No one told him about the kids. There were three of them, of different ages and ethnicities, laying in the front yard. Vergil paused for a moment, just watching them, while Dante rushed over and barreled into them, ruining their game and creating a new one that must have been called 'Climb the Demon Hunter' or something of that nature because they were squealing and trying to get onto his shoulders as best they could.

They knew Dante. They liked Dante.

Nico stood at Vergil's side, arms crossed. "He's got a way with kids," she said, "probably because he's just as mature as the lot of em."

One child reached Dante's shoulders while another was hanging off his hips, legs wrapped around them as she reached down for the youngest to hand up to the highest. The youngest couldn't of been much more than a toddler and was cackling as he was placed directly on Dante's head.

None of them had white hair. It was curious, but Vergil still had a spike of anger in him from seeing them. Not at the children, but at Dante. Dante had allowed Nero to be a demon hunter, had let him fight Urizen and him, had put his life in danger so many times. Nero had children, maybe not by blood, but they were dependent on him. Dante was allowing him them to lose a parent. They could go through the exact same pain that the Sparda twins had been cursed with.

"Hey hey hey!" Nero cried out as he jogged out of the house and over to Dante, grabbing the children and pulling them off, setting them gently onto the ground. "That's dangerous, okay?"

"I wasn't going to let them fall!" Dante rolled his eyes.

The eldest rolled her eyes but the others just giggled and went back to their playing. Nero's eyes caught Vergil's still standing to the side, observing. The nervousness that Vergil felt melted away as Nero smiled, nothing cocky in it, just glad to see him. He went over to him and held out a hand, offering, not demanding anything.

"You sure about that?" Nico asked, one eyebrow cocked.

"I'm sure," Nero gave her a playful glare. "I'm glad you could make it Vergil."

Vergil took his hand in a firm shake, giving his own small smile, before letting it go. "I've already taken one arm, I have no need for another."

Nero's laugh was a bit less comfortable as he scratched at the back of his scalp. A bad subject. He shouldn't have joked.

"This is Josie." Nero changed the subject, pointing out the kids. "That's Trevor and the little one is Sammy. Kids, this is Vergil, he's my dad."

"I thought you didn't have a dad." Josie pouted, suddenly serious.

"No, remember?" Trevor jabbed her with en elbow, "Nero found his dad in that tree thing?"

"Oh right," Josie rolled her eyes. "Well, nice to meet you back-from-the-dead-dad."

"Hey, be nice!" Nero scolded.

"It's fine," Vergil interrupted. "I was gone for a long time. I understand the reaction." He'd expected more of it. He'd expected Nero to hold it against him forever, that they'd never repair their relationship. It still wasn't good. It was awkward and messy and he doubted he could ever have the heart to heart that Nero so desperately needed, but it was still going so much better than he'd ever expected.

"You guys have a half hour left of play time, okay? Then you gotta wash up and get ready for dinner."

"Okay!" Trevor agreed and then slapped Dante on the thigh, "You're it!" and started to run.

Dante was on him in an instant, grabbing him and lifting while tickling his sides with his fingers. He ignored the cries of 'No tag backs' and continued the game as Nero led Nico and Vergil into the house. Three kids explained why the building was so large.

"I didn't know you had children," Vergil admitted as they all took off their shoes at the front door.

"We don't," Nero explained. "Kyrie worked with an orphanage with The Order but after we met Dante and The Order was pretty much destroyed she started doing more social work and the like. Now we kind of run our own orphanage but we don't have the money for a building yet. So they live here. I think it's good for them."

"Sounds like someone's here!" Kyrie called out, leaning out of a doorway, with a bowl of something in her arms, stirring it. Her smile was calm and warm like the rest of her but when her eyes caught his it changed, became brilliant and bright and Vergil's anxieties vanished the rest of the way. "You came!"

She rushed over, dumping the bowl into Nico's arms as she took Vergil into hers. He was stiff, odd, as she threw her arms around him but he had no choice but to melt into the touch, to bend down so that she didn't have to stretch too much. She smelled like vanilla flowers and flour, and she clutched at him as if it had been months since she'd last seen him instead of just a few days. She was the first to hug him, and this was just as passionate and strange as the first time. He didn't know what to do with his arms, what would be too familiar, but he did slowly hug her back. Even though he knew her scent his nose was full of chlorine and his eyes stung and he didn't know why.

There was pressure on his back like armor. His vision pulsed for a moment and he thought the walls were the fleshy red of an overripe fruit. He pulled away and she was still smiling as she was firmly settled back on her feet.

"I wouldn't have missed this for the world." His voice sounded strained even in his own ears.

The conversation shifted after that, more of about work and their days and the weather, human things. He found himself weaving in and out of it. They were sitting in the living room and there were photos on the mantel of a bunch of different kids, those that had come and gone. They were all loved. They were all well taken care of. None of them had been let in the cold.

_They had been found and loved and protected. That's all you ever wanted, wasn't it?_

Nico told a joke and everyone laughed. He joined them, hoping that his sounded real, sounded like he hadn't left into that dark place of his mind. It was getting loud again. He could hear Dante and the kids outside. He could could hear the neighbors. His skin itched like someone was staring at his nude and raw body. He could hear the birds cawing. He could hear the rumbling of a voice in his head, one that had taken the place of his own thoughts.

_They all know you don't belong here. You're not like them. You're not human._

"Vergil?" Kyrie asked, stepping into the living room. He and Nero both turned to look at her. "I was wondering if you could help me out in here?"

His mouth was dry. He couldn't help her. He couldn't do anything. He was a stranger in a strange house, infiltrating a family and they hadn't noticed yet that he was an inferno threatening to tear down their home and all the love inside of it.

"Of course." He stood, noting how his leg was shaking, and hoped that no one else noticed it or any of his other wrongs as he went to join Kyrie in the kitchen.

It wasn't too much of a mess though there was a bit of clutter on each of the counters. She was making a roast of some sort, Vergil wasn't sure, he'd never been good at these things. He could smell it though and he could recognize some of the ingredients that were still out. He had no need to cook. He had no real need to eat. Dante ate a lot, but that was because he enjoyed the taste and the process. Vergil ate to fit in, to join in with the group. He knew what he liked at least.

"I haven't spent much time in a kitchen, I'm afraid," he apologized, taking off his gloves and putting them in his pocket so that the fingers hung down. "I'm not certain how much you think I can help."

She pulled out some root vegetables, carrots, a parsnip, potatoes, and something that Vergil didn't recognize, and set them on the counter next to the cutting board. "You don't have to be good in the kitchen for this. I just need these cut into half inch chunks. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded. That was easy. That was nothing. He took the knife and started to chop, Kyrie swooping in to take a pile when it got too much for the board and adding it to a baking sheet. The knife wasn't as sharp as he would like but he could do this without too much issue. It was nice, to focus on something like this. The sounds weren't too much. He was here, grounded, cutting vegetables, and other than Kyrie's humming and the clack clack clack of the knife he didn't hear anything.

It was calming. He didn't know how Kyrie knew he needed this. She had though. She always knew what people needed.

He was also fairly certain that she didn't need his help in the least.

She added a bit of oil, rosemary and salt, to the mixture of vegetables before putting them in the oven. "That won't take long. We should probably tell the kids to get ready for dinner."

"Do you require any further assistance?" he asked, washing his hands and the knife together.

"Only if you think you can wrangle your brother for me."

He smiled. He could do that.

-

The food was good. It was great, even. The conversation, however, was lacking in terms of intrigue. There was an argument on one side of him between Nero and Nico, escalating in volume even though it was about something Vergil didn't understand in the least, a carbonater for the van or something. The kids were all chatting and playing at the table and making a mess and there was no way to follow their conversation, especially when Sammy joined in. Dante was hopping from side to side, keeping up beautifully while stealing things off other people's plates even though he had more than enough on his own plate, although a lot of said plate was being taken up by a pool of horseradish that he was dipping everything in.

He couldn't focus on any of it. he couldn't even taste his food after a while. At one point he realized that he had stopped eating and was just staring off into space, catching onto it by an elbow jamming into his arm from the side. He jerked back into himself, expecting the sounds to be that of battle, of Hell, instead of people having a good time. The elbow had been thrown by accident, by Trevor, but Vergil's mind couldn't focus on that. It couldn't focus on anything. It was all just noise.

_Block it out. I trained you for this. I made you for this. If you cannot block it out you cannot fight and you cannot become stronger. If you are weak, what is the point of you?_

He couldn't block it out. There was so much of it. It was so loud. He couldn't handle it. His body felt delicate, like if anyone touched him he would crack further and shatter. The dark blue veins in his skin were hollow and dried out and now all there was left was dry broken skin that threatened to crumble under pressure. Something was going to touch him and see how fragile he was.

He looked at the food and was suddenly unable to imagine ever eating again. It was all dry as dust. He had eaten poison before and felt it surge through his veins and paralyze him, to make him stronger, to make him immune, to get him closer to the most he could be. He wanted to carve it out of himself. He wanted to be free of it. He wanted to never remember.

A kick to his foot and he was up, pushing his chair back against the hardwood so that it screeched, eyes wide. Silence filled the table, finally. There was a moment of actual silence. But with silence came sight and they were all staring at him. They could see him, see how broken he was, how little he could fathom being here, how inhuman he was. They were all so small compared to Nelo Angelo and he could destroy them so easily.

_For you, a gift, a name that bares your power. No one will think of the weak half breed, Vergil, further. Instead they will fear and remember Nelo Angelo forever._

"If you would excuse me," he whispered, more to the plate still before him than to anyone in particular, "I believe I'm done for the evening. I'll start cleaning up."

"You don't need to do that," Kyrie said, reaching out gently, as if to settle her hand on top of his bare skin.

He tore his hand away as if her touch would burn him and, in his mind it would. "You've done enough, making this lovely meal for us. Let me return the favor."

"Oh. okay."

He escaped to the kitchen, put his hands on either side of the sink, and just breathed. They were whispering about him. They were talking about him. He could hear them, through the door, could hear Dante's tone as he tried to wave off his weirdo of a brother and that hurt. It stung in his chest as much as Dante's blade had, and he doubled over. He could feel the urge to spill over, part of him thought he would be sick from trying to hold it all in. He could feel Dante's concern. It was like a simple syrup, still hot, sticking to him. But his words, his actions, didn't match. Because he was Dante and he had a persona that he had to keep up with others.

He shouldn't have come here. He should have listened to Dante. There was something wrong with him.

_I'll make you right._

He bit his lip until he felt the blood drip down his chin.

There was a window above the sink and he looked at it, caught his reflection, the monster. Dark veins from his red eyes, sharp teeth, his skin so pale. He thought he was free. He thought all of Angelo was gone from him. He thought he was better.Something was behind him, touching him, and he spun, one hand out, his legs moving. He slammed his attacker against the wall, her feet dangling, his claws against her throat. She was grabbing onto his wrist, squirming, trying to get free, trying to breathe.

"Vergil?" She whimpered through her tight throat.

His free hand opened and, unbound and unbroken, Yamato appeared in it.

"Vergil, come on, it's me."

Kyrie's eyes were on him, she was so soft and delicate and human. She wasn't even fighting him, not really.

He dropped her, her back hitting the cabinet that she'd been pressed again before she slid down it a bit, coughing, touching her throat. He spun away from her, teeth grit. He was a monster. That was Kyrie and he had attacked her. The best human he had ever met, a living saint, and he had almost killed her. Dante was wrong. Nero was wrong. They were all wrong.

He couldn't change.

He couldn't be a good person; couldn't combine his nature and his nurture into something positive. He would always be a monster.

He drew Yamato. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking, "I'll go. You'll never have to see me again." He didn't know where he was going but he knew it was going to be away, somewhere where there was no one, so he couldn't hurt anyone. He thought of Mallet Island, how there was nothing there but bones. He could go there, but Dante would know to look for him there. He couldn't do that.

He didn't want to be a burden anymore.

"No, don't, please!" Kyrie begged, pulling herself back up to her feet. "Please, you can't leave, not after everything."

"I could have killed you." Yamato was shaking in his hand. "You posed me no threat and yet I struck out at you."

"You didn't know I was there. You're scared; that's okay. I've been there. I was so scared of the dark for so long after it happened. I still have bad nights, terrible dreams, I can't imagine what you went through."

"I went through what I deserved, what I asked for." Vergil corrected. "That's no excuse."

"Don't go," she whispered and there was this fervent need in her voice that made him stay.

He lowered his shoulders. He sheathed Yamato and she vanished back into the pocket dimension that she resided in when he didn't need her. He wanted her though. He wanted to cling to her like he had as a child. He wanted her to protect him like she always had.

"I'm not like him," Vergil whispered. His shoulders were shaking, his eyes burning. He still couldn't look at her. He knew what he looked like. "I'm not like Dante. I can't just pretend everything is alright."

"What can I do?" Kyrie asked, her voice closer, "How can I help?"

"You shouldn't have to help me. I should not require help."

"Come with me?"

He glanced over, saw her small perfect hand reached out, palm up. He put his palm over it. Her hand was so tiny. His was scaled and clawed. She trusted him, even like this. The tears started to fall from his eyes and it took work, took him focusing on how soft and pink her skin was, how easy it would be for him to hurt her, to get the claws to recede, to his hand human again, before he could take it.

She took him out of the kitchen, not back into the dining room but through the house and over to the office. It was a small room with a lot of books, a desk, and chair, files, and a large leather recliner. Kyrie settled him in the leather chair while she took the wooden one by the desk. She was looking at him. She could see him.

She handed him a tissue. He wiped at his eyes and blew his nose before tossing it into the small waste basket.

"Did Dante tell you how we met?" she asked. She didn't seem to care about his appearance and that made him question himself. Had it all been in his head? What else could he be imagining?

He shook his head. There was a lamp with a bronze coating on it. His reflection in its base was morphed but it told him enough. There were no dark veins, no cracks in his skin. His eyes however, were glowing red, his teeth really were sharp points, and there was dried blood on his lip.

"He was holding my brother's corpse."

Vergil's attention snapped to her. She was sitting there, calm but not confident, hiding hurt and trauma in her heart, but she was holding open a door in her chest for him to look into it.

"I was part of a cult. I didn't realize it at the time, but that is what it was. We all worshiped Sparda like a god but it was all corrupt. The leader was just in it for power. Dante killed him but it didn't stick, he came back. So I saw your brother murder the leader of my church in cold blood, in a crowd of people, and I didn't know why. I was captured and forced into this horrible dark place inside of a statue. I was used to draw Nero to it. I didn't know what he was at the time. I had only just seen his arm for the first time. He rescued me but I didn't get out of there until Credo, my brother, was dead. For a moment I thought Dante had killed him, but he'd tried to fight for me too, and was thrown off the statue to his death."

She pulled out a tissue and wiped at the tears that were pricking her own eyes. Vergil wanted to ask her why she was telling him this. It wasn't helping him in any way. He stopped himself though, this obviously meant a lot to her and she was trying to connect to him with it. Her voice was comforting too, enough that he could feel his teeth slide back into their gums and his human ones come back into view.

"The point is, I'm not scared of you. I don't know what all you've been through but I can recognize that you've been traumatized by it. The only reason I'm alright now is because of Nero, Dante, and the memory of Credo. They all did whatever they could to protect me and afterwards they've given me strength and the chance to discuss what I needed to. When something triggers my PTSD I have Nero to help me through it. When it's dark he's always there to guide me."

They were quiet for a long time. He could hear dinner finish up, the dishes clinking as they were piled onto one another.

I can't tell you what happened. I can't tell anyone," Vergil sighed. "It's too much, too long of a story and the things I've done have been so terrible. When I say I asked for it, that is not due to rationalizing victimhood or an attempt to make it lesser. I literally asked for power and was made to embody it, through pain and loss. I betrayed Dante. I gave myself these traumas. If I were to put it all into words, the damage I've done, you would hate me."

"I doubt that."

"It was just so loud. I couldn't tell if there was a threat mixed in with the rest, if something was coming. I don't feel right, like I belong, and _he_ came into my mind even though he's been locked away for so long. I had to get away."

"And then I touched you."

He looked at her. She was sitting with her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, and she was listening to him so patiently. He never thought that someone would let him do that. He never thought someone would let him talk like that. He didn't think anyone would care and, if they did, they would see him as weak as his humanity was.

He knew that humanity wasn't weak, but he was still coming to terms with his own.

"I didn't know who was touching me. I thought it was happening again. I thought I was back there."

"No surprises," she decided, "We'll have to watch for that. And I'll ask the kids to keep Dante quieter. A job will help them stay quieter too."

"You shouldn't have to do that. I'm-

"A grown man?" Kyrie shook her head. "I'm twenty five and I sleep with a nightlight. There's nothing weak in avoiding things that trigger you. And in this case, it will keep those around you alive."

He placed his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced. He stared at them. Everything that Kyrie said made sense. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before or why he was fighting it now. He could handle that though, even if it meant others knowing that he needed assistance. He would do that for her.

"I'm sorry."

Kyrie stood up and took a few steps towards him. She held out her hand to him again, this time with her palm down. "I know it wasn't intentional, even though that doesn't make it alright. I forgive you. Do you want to know another secret?"

He looked up her arm to her, his mouth slightly open.

"I'm not afraid of you."

He stepped out of the shade and into the sprawling, dazzling sunlight, feeling it warm his old and aching bones. He took her hand and let her help him to his feet before wrapping his arms around her and holding her as tightly as he dared. He felt her kiss his temple as her arms wrapped around him again and they just stood there for a moment, two hurt people in a house full of other hurt people.

"We should be getting back," Kyrie said when he finally let her go though she was holding both of his hands in front of her, looking into his eyes.

"Do I look-

"Human?" she smiled. "Almost. Your eyes are still a little red."

He closed them and he breathed and he could smell vanilla blossoms. When he opened them Kyrie was holding a tissue again.

"There we go! That's better. You also have just a touch of blood on your face."

He took the tissue from her and wiped at his lip and chin. "Right. Right. Better?"

"Perfect. You know, I could use your help with dessert if you want?"

He would like. He was loathe to admit it but he had a terrible sweet tooth that he'd always fought against. Now though, he thought maybe he was fighting against enough. He could let chocolate win for one.

"Of course."

She squeezed the hand she was still holding. "Thanks, Dad."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I cried for the last page of this.


End file.
